Wait Until Dark, page 7
"You don't drink either?" Tracy inquired, arching a brow. "I'm beginning to think you don't have any weaknesses."
Steadily, Lindsey met her gaze. "I have several. One is a bad temper - which I lose when my privacy is invaded, when I'm bribed, and when I'm patronized. By the way, I do drink - just not in the middle of a workday. I'm an architect, not a figurehead CEO. I do designs, not business lunches."
A tight smile curved Tracy's lips. "You certainly have the cutting Falkner tongue," she noted. "I'll try to remember that." At Stuart's warning glare, she continued, forcing out the words as if they pained her. "I apologize for the private investigator, for my brother's and my attempts to buy you off, and for that scene in Leland's office. I came off as a pushy bitch. The truth is, I'm just very protective of my family."
"Of which you're now a part," Stuart jumped in. He cleared his throat. "Why don't we order lunch? Then, we can talk."
"Good idea." Nicholas signaled the waiter, who was on his way over anyway. The round little man picked up his pace, hurrying over to place Lindsey's sparkling water and Nicholas's glass of merlot on the table. He then whipped out his pad, jotted down their order, and scurried off to the kitchen to have it filled.
"How's the construction going?" Stuart asked. "Has it started?"
"Barely," Lindsey replied. "I won't see major progress for a few days."
"What exactly have you planned to renovate?" Casually, Tracy set down her glass, inclining her head in question. "The place is in excellent condition. I'm sure it's dusty from lack of use, but I can't imagine it needing much more than a little sprucing up."
"It doesn't. What I'm doing is restoring the manor, making it consistent with its original Georgian style. As for major renovations, the only ones I've planned are to have the plumbing and electrical systems modernized. And I'm having a couple of structural changes done to make the house more suitable to my mother's lifestyle - taking down a few walls to enlarge certain rooms, adding some windows for sunlight. I'm also having landscaping done, creating a front and backyard garden. Gardening is a passion of my mother's - one she's never been able to indulge in, since we've always lived in an apartment. Now, she can plant and prune to her heart's content. The contractors will be digging around the foundation to waterproof it, anyway. I'll have the landscapers do their work after that."
"It sounds very ambitious," Stuart said with another of those practiced smiles. "No wonder you plan to spend every waking moment of your vacation there."
"I don't recall saying that," Lindsey replied slowly. "But, yes, I will be at the manor most of the time. More out of interest than to supervise. As Nicholas pointed out, the contractors he recommended are pros. They don't need overseeing. I'll probably drive out each morning, stay as long as I choose to, then drive back at night."
"At night?" Tracy asked. "Why?"
"Because I like to look over my projects when it's quiet and there are no distractions. That way, I can evaluate my ideas, see if they look as good in reality as they did on paper."
"Really?" Tracy's tone actually contained a tinge of admiration. "You're certainly dedicated. And thorough."
"You obviously know what you're doing." Stuart concluded.
"I should. I specialize in the restoration of historic homes." Lindsey paused, wondering where this in-depth discussion of her skills was leading. She was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. "None of this is news to you. You know everything there is to know about me, thanks to your investigator."
"We know only facts. You're giving us nuances." Stuart cleared his throat again. "In any case, you're clearly top-notch in your field. Your mother must be very proud."
Warning bells sounded in Lindsey's head.
"She is." It didn't take a genius to guess that Stuart was steering the conversation in a specific direction. And whatever that direction was, it was the basis for this lunch.
Their food chose that inopportune moment to arrive, and everyone at the table fell silent until all the entrees had been served, the water glasses had been refilled, and the waiter was satisfied that he'd done all he could to make his renowned customers comfortable.
"That'll be all," Nicholas told him quietly.
"Very good, Mr. Warner." He took the hint and vanished.
"I hope you enjoy your salad, Lindsey," Stuart said, trying to dispel the tension. "The food here is quite good."
"I'm sure it is." She had no more desire to eat than she had to be here. But she dutifully tasted her chef's salad, chewing and swallowing automatically.
Another prolonged silence, presumably so they could savor their meal.
Lindsey's nerves were frayed to snapping, when Nicholas put down his fork and gazed steadily at Stuart. "You mentioned that this lunch was important," he prodded.
A slow nod. "It is."
'"Then let's get to its purpose," Lindsey demanded with quiet intensity. "We've had enough small talk and food:”
Stuart dabbed at his mouth, then refolded his napkin on his lap, and leaned forward, angling his body toward Lindsey. "You're very direct. I appreciate that. So I will be, too, Tracy and I have been less than honest with you. It's time we cleared the air, laid all our cards on the table."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that, as you know, neither Tracy nor I knew of your existence before the will reading. What we didn't realize at that time is that our mother did. She knew that one of her maids, Irene Hall, was involved with our father. She knew that Irene became pregnant, and that it happened right here at our Newport manor. She knew that my father paid Irene Hall to disappear. Needless to say, that discovery took a huge toll on my parents' marriage and on my mother. The marriage recovered. My mother never really did - not completely. Not even after Father assured her the affair was over for good. She started drinking. She couldn't bear the sight of the manor, and that aversion got worse as the years passed and her emotional and physical state deteriorated. She tried to curb her reaction, for Tracy's and my sake. But eventually it became too much for her. We stopped visiting the summer house altogether. After that, Mother coped the only way she could - she blocked out all memory of anything relating to the affair."
"Blocked it out," Lindsey repeated woodenly. She wished she hadn't eaten. Her stomach was lurching, threatening to return its contents. "If your mother doesn't remember any of this, then who did you get your information from?"
"Mother's doctor. I went to him right after Leland told us about you. I wanted him to advise us how best to break the news to my mother. As it turned out, Dr. Barley already knew the whole story. It seems Mother confided in him. It was during one of those rare sessions when she experienced a flash of memory. When I divulged the situation to him - about you and Father's provisions for you - he told me he already knew. He cautioned me that my mother was protecting herself by forgetting, that it could be dangerous if she learned of these new developments. He believes it might push her over the edge. She's fragile. He wants to shield her. So do we."
A heartbeat of a pause. "I understand my mother is not your problem," Stuart clarified. "But your mother is. Dr. Farley went on to explain that he adamantly believes it would be psychologically harmful for Father's mistress to make her home in a place that can conjure up nothing but painful memories. He suggested we get rid of the house altogether, start anew - for everyone's sake."
Taking a deep swallow of water, Stuart leaned closer, determined to drive home his point. "I'm not trying to intimidate you, Lindsey, nor am I trying to buy you off. I'm simply asking you to do what's best. Sell Nicholas the manor. Let him raze it to the ground. Let the past be laid to rest. Who knows? Maybe we can start over. Maybe we can actually get to know each other, form some kind of relationship. Tracy and I are willing. But not with this albatross hanging around our necks."
If that wasn't emotional blackmail, Lindsey didn't know what was.
"This relationship we form - will you tell your mother about it?" she asked.
Silence.
"That's what I thought." Lindsey waved away whatever Stuart had been about to say. "Let's skip the mending fences. It's clearly never going to happen. I don't do clandestine relationships. And I certainly won't expose my mother to one."
"Fine," Tracy said a little too quickly. "What about the rest of what Stuart said - are you agreeable?"
Lindsey wasn't sure what she felt. Nor did she give herself time to consider it.
"Let's say I believe everything you just told me," she said. "You're desperate to protect your mother. Well, what happens if the press gets wind of my existence? What if they find out I'm Harlan Falkner's illegitimate daughter? It's more than likely, given the world's fascination with your family. The media will have a field day. News of my identity might even get through the fortress you've built around Rolling Hills. What will happen to your mother then?"
"She'll be reminded of a past she already knows but has buried in her subconscious." Stuart's comeback was so fast that it had to have been rehearsed. "Yes, it'll be difficult. But not nearly as devastating as what will happen to her if she's forced to learn that the manor harboring all her emotional ghosts is now home to Father's mistress and illegitimate child. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but let's face it, Lindsey, if you're nothing more than a news story, if the house is leveled, you'll be an upsetting but obscure memory, not a blatant slap in Mother's face. Now let's turn the tables. What happens to your mother if the press finds out about you? Let me assure you, her best bet is to be as far away from Newport as possible. Otherwise, she'll find herself directly in the line of fire."
Everything inside Lindsey went cold, and her suspicions over last night's phone call surged to the forefront. "Is that a threat? Because today seems to be a big day for my getting those."
Stuart frowned. "I specifically said this wasn't meant to intimidate you. It was meant to - "
"I'm not talking about now. I'm talking about last night. Somewhere around three A.M."
"You've lost me."
Nicholas spoke up for the first time since Stuart had begun his explanation. "Lindsey got a phone call in the middle of the night. She was warned to sell the manor, to stay away from Newport, and to keep her mouth shut about her blood ties to Harlan. She didn't recognize the voice." He took a sip of merlot, gazed steadily from Stuart to Tracy. "Neither of you knows anything about that phone call, do you?"
"What kind of question is that?" Stuart returned, a flush stealing up his neck.
"I think we're being accused of something, Stu." Tracy entered the conversation flippantly, taking another bite of her filet of sole as she did. "Our new stepsister doesn't trust us."
"Obviously, neither does our old friend." Stuart leveled an icy stare at Nicholas.
That stare didn't seem to phase Nicholas a bit. "I can't think of many people who would benefit from scaring the hell out of Lindsey. The three of us are definite choices. And I know I had nothing to do with it. I'm simply asking if either of you did."
"No," Stuart bit out.
"Tracy?"
She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. "Three A.M.? I'm generally asleep around then. I save my threatening calls for morning."
"So you had nothing to do with it?"
"No, she didn't," Stuart answered for her. "Neither of us did."
"Interesting." Nicholas polished off his merlot. "That doesn't leave many suspects."
"It must have been a reporter. Word of Lindsey must have already leaked out." Stuart raked a hand through his hair. "Dammit."
"A reporter?" Lindsey echoed in disbelief. "Why would a reporter threaten me?"
"You're pathetically naive," Tracy announced, that arrogant glint back in her eyes. "A reporter would do that to get a reaction. A reaction would mean a story. Why else?"
Lindsey digested that bizarre possibility. A story? The idea had never occurred to her. But knowing the press's fixation with the Falkners, anything was possible.
She studied Tracy and Stuart's reactions, thinking how ironic the world they lived in was. They were more worried about bad publicity than they were about potential bodily harm being done to another person. Still, Lindsey couldn't help but note Stuart's very genuine concern. His values might all be screwed up, but she doubted he was behind that phone call. Not unless he was one hell of a fine actor.
As for Tracy, she was impossible to read. She looked upset, her jaw clenched tight and her expression icy. What that meant was anyone's guess.
There was no way to prove anything.
The whole scenario was just too sordid for Lindsey's tastes. She'd had enough.
Tossing down her napkin, she rose. "I think we've said all there is to say."
Stuart's head snapped up. "What about the manor? Will you think about what I've said, maybe change your mind? That phone call should have clinched it for you."
Her brows arched, "Why? You just said whoever called was probably with the press. Which would mean I'm not in any danger, right?"
"Not physically. But if that was the press, it's just the first of many crank reporters who'll be on your doorstep night and day when this story leaks out. Your life will never be your own."
Lindsey pressed her lips together. "I'll take that chance. As for our mothers, mine is like me. She's strong. She's been through too much not to be. She'd thumb her nose at the world and say keep the manor. And yours? My guess is our father thought his wife could handle this. Otherwise, he never would have left me the manor." She scooped up her purse. "Honestly, Stuart, I think you're overreacting. But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, just to put your mind at ease. I'll give this Dr. Farley a call, explain my position, and hear what he has to say. If anything changes my decision, I'll let you know." She pushed back her chair and stood. "Tell him to expect my call. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back."
A quick glance at Nicholas. "I'll catch a cab."
"No need." He rose, his expression pensive. "I'll drive you."
"Nicholas, talk to her," Stuart hissed, as Nicholas went to follow Lindsey out.
Nicholas paused, his brooding stare shifting from Stuart to Tracy and back. "I intend to."
Stuart stared after Nicholas's retreating figure, muttering a curse under his breath. "We have a problem. Farley's never going to go along with this."
"We have a bigger problem " Tracy commented, resting her elbows on the table. "It seems our dear friend Nicholas has defected."
10
LINDSEY WAS GLAD THE CONTRACTORS were experienced, because she was in no condition to supervise their work. In fact, she was in no condition to deal with anyone.
The drive back to the manor was silent, with Nicholas leveling frequent probing glances in her direction. She felt his scrutiny, knew he was eager to talk. But she had too much to digest before she did. So she averted her face, letting him know she wasn't ready to discuss what had happened at lunch. He respected her wishes, at least for the time being, and bit back his thoughts. He even went so far as to drive her around to the manor's front door, and yet make no move to accompany her inside. He said nothing when she thanked him for the ride, but he did stop her as she groped for the door handle, holding her arm long enough to say he'd call her later. She nodded, feeling his brooding stare as she jumped out and darted up the stairs and into the house. He gazed after her for a few long minutes before finally driving off.
She hung around long enough to chat with the project foreman, who was covered with plaster as he stood under the scaffolding positioned in the manor's two-story foyer, directing traffic as his workers tore down the wall that separated the front sitting room and the salon. The house was bustling, with the electrical contractor checking out the wiring he needed to reroute, and construction workers retrieving tools and equipment, or clustered around the walls designated to come down, breaking off chunks of plaster.
Seeing how smoothly everything was running, Lindsey left, driving directly to Nicholas's house. She felt unusually jumpy, and she kept looking in her rearview mirror to see if she was being followed. Nope. Only the steady flow of residential traffic. Too many spy movies, she chided herself wryly. And too little sleep.
Then again, that wasn't a surprise under the circumstances. After all, she wasn't used to receiving threatening phone calls and attempted payoffs. No wonder her nerves were shot.
She drove up Nicholas's driveway and around to the front of the house, reflexively checking over her shoulder as she got out of the car to see if she was being watched. Nothing and no one. She walked up the stairs and let herself in, leaning back wearily against the door. Time to think of something pleasant.
She forced herself to focus on her surroundings, taking her first really good look at Nicholas's home.
It was a class act, just like its owner, she mused. All subtle tones of brown and beige, and refined touches she suspected were a combination of Nicholas's tastes and a decorator's skills. The lower level, complete with a winding staircase, contained a massive great room, and an equally impressive dining room and kitchen. The upper level, as she'd seen earlier when she changed clothes for lunch, held the bedrooms. The house had an open, airy feel to it, its polished oak floors and marble fireplace adding an elegant touch to its clean-lined, uncluttered furnishings. Cozy accents like a thick-cushioned futon and twin leather recliners in the great room - not to mention an impressive sound system - made the place feel lived-in, more like a retreat and less like the high-priced piece of real estate Lindsey's practiced eye told her it was.
She climbed the stairs, peeking into the huge master bedroom suite before turning in the opposite direction. When they'd dropped by earlier, Nicholas had urged her to make herself comfortable, to treat the place as if it were her own. Regardless, she wasn't about to use his room. Instead, she'd selected the second of the other three bedrooms - a sizable guest room done in shades of teal, with lots of windows and an adjoining bathroom. She went there now, cutting across the bedroom to hover in the bathroom doorway. The tub looked too inviting to resist, and she reached for her suitcase, tugging out what she needed and changing into a robe before heading off for a long, hot soak.
